


Doom

by Y_ellow



Category: Final Fantasy VII, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crack, Crossover, Harry in Midgard, M/M, Multi, Pointless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-02-06 12:25:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12817482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Y_ellow/pseuds/Y_ellow
Summary: And that’s how Harry ended up in the slums of Midgar, understandably confused, disoriented, and extremely irritated.He’d never really gotten the hand of Wednesdays.





	Doom

**Author's Note:**

> P.S: While I’ve read a great deal of fanfics and read the FF7 wiki, I’ve never actually played the game. Therefore, I’ve joyfully messed around with canon and just about ignore everything I’ve learned about it. They are all a bit (a lot) OOC (especially Harry but that bit was on purpose cuz yolo), please forgive, yada yada yada. 
> 
> P.P.S: This was originally surposed to be plotless porn, but then I got carried away by the world building (minimal as it still is), so now its just plotless drivel. Ending is very abrupt because I cut out some of the written smut cuz it didn’t want to be continued. 
> 
> P.P.P.S: It’s taken me like 9 billion years to finish this. My style has changed. My interests have changed. I have changed, but I can’t move on from this steaming pile of horse dung until its off my hard drive and submitted to the judgement of the void. 
> 
> Enjoy.

Harry hated Wednesdays with a fiery passion. He was orphaned on a Wednesday, battled a Troll on a Wednesday, did all sorts of other nasty things on Wednesdays, and died on a Wednesday. Wednesdays, for some inexplicable reason, had it in for Harry. This particular Wednesday was no different.  
  
Harry’ Wednesday began as usual; stealthily and with extreme caution. He ate a quick breakfast of toast and tea – prepared himself so that Kreature had no chance of poisoning him – and Apparated straight to an antechamber in the Main Hall of the Department of Mysteries. He cast of myriad of protective charms and defensive hexes and peered around cautiously, making sure that no Dark Wizards or Fiends or other Questionable Characters where in his general vicinity before heading in to work.  
  
Harry had been working for the Department of Mysteries (fondly nicknamed DOOM, or if anyone important was within range the DoM) for nearly ten years, after a yearlong stint as an Auror, during which he almost died no less than four hundred and sixty three times. Harry blamed it on the fact that he’d applied on a Wednesday, no matter what arguments Hermione made about his fame and general notoriety.  
  
Anyways, that particular day had started normally enough for a Wednesday, until Elsie – his younger and somewhat absentminded college – came in with a new artefact for them to examine. It was some sort of crystal ball, not unlike those used for Divination, composed of a condensed and slightly abnormal form of magic, near as they could tell. Unfortunately, it wasn’t responding well to any of their usual detection spells, so they had to resort to Muggle means to discover its properties. Muggle means which were woefully inadequate and somewhat dangerous when the people using them barely understood the concept of a rubber duck, let alone electricity and all the fun things one could do with it. Needless to say, Harry was doing most of the actual work that day, though Jeffry was helpful enough, being Muggleborn and all. Long years of exposure to Arthur had mostly accustomed him to such people, so he simply grit his teeth and endured the odd and mostly pointless question.  
  
While the fact that it was a Wednesday made Harry a bit twitchy (to the eternal amusement of his colleagues), he figured all would be well. After all, how much damage could one single unknown orb do? Of course, Harry’s opinion of ‘fine’ usually meant that no one died, though he had recently learned to broaden his definition to ‘dead or permanently maimed’.  
  
Harry was just about to go have a late lunch with Ron and Hermione when the orb started glowing and spitting out bursts of cackling energy. Naturally, Harry was the one standing the closest to the damned thing, and this being a Wednesday, the energy it was releasing ended up surrounding him and pulling him closer to it.  
  
He only had time to mutter a curse about wretched Wednesdays and his bloody luck before a feeling not unlike that of a Portkey, if a little stronger and more nauseating, took over his senses and transported him to an entirely different plane of existence, while his useless coworkers did nothing but gawk at the spot where The Harry Potter used to be.  
  
And that’s how Harry ended up in the slums of Midgar, understandably confused, disoriented, and extremely irritated.  
  
He’d never really gotten the hand of Wednesdays.  
  
～✧～  
  
Thankfully, Harry never left his home on Wednesday’s without a full trunk of necessities, including a couple metric tons of gold, a veritable arsenal of magical and muggle weaponry, full dragon-hide armour, and a library even Hermione would be proud of, all shrunk and securely fastened to his wand holster, which never, under any circumstance, left his wrist. Not even to shower or engage in the fun kind of bedroom activities that usually require more than one participant. (Some of them found his paranoia a big enough turn off not to come back for seconds, but Harry never could find it in him to care enough about them to change.)  
  
As such, he was able to live quite comfortably as he attempted to figure out where he was, how he’d gotten there, and a way back home. It eventually served to buy a dilapidated old building in the slums, after he’d given up on ever getting back to the Magical World. After some careful repairs, with a bit of magic to help things along, that same building eventually became his home and notorious bar, fondly dubbed Doom (for old times’ sake, even if no one else understood the joke and subtle nuances the name held – his regular patrons all got used to the cackling, else they didn’t stick around long enough to become regulars).  
  
Harry made sure to start construction on a Thursday, and to open for the public on a Monday. There was no point in tempting fate by doing any of it on a Wednesday, as far as he was concerned. He briefly entertained the notion of making Wednesdays his official day off, but that really wasn’t conductive to good business, so he simply resigned himself to continuing his routine of extra caution on Wednesdays.  
  
And so, Harry’s new life in the Slums of Midgar began.  
  
～✧～  
  
The first time Harry met Sephiroth, the General was more than a little tipsy and scarring away all of Harry’s other customers with a truly impressive glare. Honestly, not even Mako enhancements could explain the colour of his eyes, or their sheer intensity, no matter what the general populace wanted to believe.  
  
Sephiroth was tall, with well-defined muscles and an aristocratic face. His eyes where piercing and cat like, and his hair was long silver and hair. Harry had always been comfortable enough with his sexuality that he had no problem admitting that the General was a fine specimen of manliness, long hair included, and definitely deserved (and could handle) a bit of ogling.  
  
Everyone in Midgar above the age of six and not consistently off their rocker was familiar with the name Sephiroth, could have recognize the General at a glance, and knew all that he’d done for them. Harry couldn’t help but to feel kind of bad for him, having experienced first-hand what that kind of fame could do to a person. That was the main reason why he didn’t resent the lost clientele overmuch. Of course, the fact that he was pretty much set for life already definitely helped, not to mention the fact that he was enjoying the view a great deal.  
  
Harry’s bar started off as little more than a way to pass the time while getting to know the ins and outs of this strange new world he’d landed into, but he’d come to genuinely care for some of his regulars. Judging by the way the General downed shot after shot of some of Harry’s finest liquor, he’d be joining their ranks soon enough.  
  
Harry let the General drown his sorrows in booze for nearly an hour as the bar progressively emptied, the weaker willed citizens of the Slums fleeing before the all mighty gaze of their General.  
  
Clearly, the Generals alcohol tolerance was unparalleled, even by SOLDIER standards. He didn’t even look half as drunk as he ought to after that much to drink; high praise indeed coming from a Wizard with his own absurdly high alcohol tolerance. And so, with only three other patrons left -all of which were favored regulars-, Harry decided to break out the big guns.  
  
“Here,” he said, handing the General a liberal shot of crimson liquid, “this’ll get you there for sure.”  
  
“What is it?” Sephiroth asked, without so much as a slur. Truly, an impressive alcohol tolerance, and Harry should know, considering he got people drunk for a living. Harry said as much, and got what would translate into a chuckle on any one else from the man in response, before answering his question.  
  
“I call it Firewhiskey. A few shots and I guaranty that you’ll be seeing nirvana for the rest of the evening, especially considering all you’ve had in the past hour alone.”  
  
With a smirk, the General raised his shot glass in Harry’s direction and tossed it back. Harry couldn’t help a loud guffaw as the usually composed General’s face scrunched up in a grimace as he swallowed, unaccustomed to that particular brand of burning. In his defence, it was a rather intense sensation. He started coughing and Harry, gentleman that he was, fetched him a tall glass of water.  
  
“Gods, what’s in that stuff?” Harry laughed again at the Generals expression, and his undignified splutters. The poor man looked far too adorable when confused, as far as harry was concerned.  
  
“Now that would be telling.” Harry answered, with a teasing smile, while pouring another shot in the General’s empty glass.  
  
“Hey, Harry! You gonna give us some, or are you saving it all for the good General?” Harry raised an eyebrow at the holler and turned to face the red head sitting in the corner.  
  
Reno, one of his favorite (if annoying) regulars, was a lanky red haired man in his early twenties. He’d been one of Harry’s very first customers, which was the only reasons Harry hadn’t murdered him for bringing in his work every once in a while. Reno was a Turk, so his ‘work’ typically involved liberal amounts of gore and death. Why Reno insisted on stopping by for a drink before bringing his criminal-of-the-day in for questioning (or simply bringing the dead body to wherever that kind of thing was dealt with, as the case could be) like he was supposed to was something Harry would never understand, nor did he particularly want to.  
  
“No need for any of that, Reno. Besides, I’m not sure I trust you with it after what you did last time I let you have any.” Harry intoned, bottle of Firewhiskey in one hand and the other on his hip. Really, last time had been a fiasco. He’d had to close down shop for nearly a week! It happened on a Wednesday, of course.  
  
“Aw c’mon! I’m not alone this time. Rude’ll stop me from doing too much damage!” Reno pleaded, gesturing vaguely towards his stony faced companion. Harry let Reno shift anxiously in his seat for a minute, knowing full well that Rude had a hard time controlling a sober Reno, let alone a drunken Reno. But Harry did so enjoy knowing that Reno would be waking up with a killer hangover, come morning.  
  
Rude was a tall, bald man with a black goatee, who always whore sunglasses. Harry knew from past experiences that he carried several backup pairs in the inside pocket of his suit. He had very expressive eyes, which was a downside in his line of work. Also a Turk, he was Reno’s partner, and usually the one to stop Reno from being a moron. He didn’t talk much, preferring to leave that to his loud mouthed companion.  
  
Harry let said loud mouthed moron squirm in his seat some more before finally answering him.  
  
“Fine. But if you do anything, and I mean anything, I’m banning you for a month.” Harry delivered his threat with his best glare and Fear-Me voice, something he’d practiced extensively, rejoicing in Reno’s full body shiver, and the slight widening of his green eyes. Always good to know he still had it in him to terrify people. He quickly poured some of the Firewhiskey into the two awaiting glasses, hiding his smile.  
  
“Thanks, Harry!” Reno said cheerfully, far too used to Harry’s glares to let it bother him for long. Such a pity, that.  
  
“You want some, Vincent?” Harry asked, turning away from the red haired goof and his tall friend to face the brooding man in the darkest recess of the bar. Honestly, the guy needed to get out more.  
  
Vincent, a former Turk with a rather shady past, had raven hair he kept tied back with a red bandana and matching eyes. All in all, he made for a formidable sight; intimidating the other patrons and making them flee before his threatening aura. No one dare sit by him, which was a long standing source of amusement for Harry when the bar was full. Honestly, the lengths patrons would go through to avoid siting near Vincent where hilarious.  
  
Vincent nodded, presenting Harry with his glass. Two years after meeting him, and Harry still hadn’t managed to get more than three words at a time out of the man without first giving him an absurd amount of alcohol. It was damn annoying, but considering what he’d had to say the only time Harry had seen him relaxed and way beyond drunk, Harry understood. He’d had a harsh life, like most people who found their way to Harry’s bar and into the ranks of his regulars.  
  
Having delivered the coveted shots of Firewhiskey, Harry wandered back to his counter, and to the General still sat there, on one of the less rickety barstool. He received an empty shot glass and a somewhat lopsided smirk in greeting. Harry promptly refilled the Generals glass, before finally going behind the counter to get a damp rag. He wanted to start cleaning up. It was well past two AM, and highly unlikely that anyone else would show up.  
  
At half past two, after many more shots of Firewhiskey, Vincent took his leave (a little unsteady on his feet, but still sober enough to make it home safely), followed shortly after by Reno and Rude. Rude ended up mostly carrying Reno as he belted out a few verses of something Harry suspected had once been a love song. With the way Reno was butchering it, it was hard to tell.  
  
Harry tidied up after them, shutting and locking the doors before making his way back to the counter and Sephiroth.  
  
“So, are you drunk yet?” Harry asked, with a smile.  
  
“Hmmm.” Sephiroth made a vaguely agreeable sound in Harry’s direction, making him grin.  
  
“I’ll take that as a yes. You got someone I can call for you?” It wouldn’t do to just send the man off into the slums by himself, drunk as he was. He’d probably end up killing a couple civilians, if he didn’t get himself maimed first by some of the things that lurked in the alleyways.  
  
“Mhhhhh. Angeal,” mumbled the drunken man, with some difficulties. Clearly, Harry’s Firewhiskey had done its job. The General fished around in his pockets, retrieving a top model PHS which he thrust in Harry’s general direction with great pride at the accomplishment. No doubt motor control was difficult. Harry did so enjoy watching the drunkards make fools of themselves (the non-angry ones at least, not that he let that sort stay in his bar very long). It made for some wonderful entertainment, not to mention all the blackmail material.  
  
Harry took the offered device and found the name Angeal in the contacts section, wasting no time in calling. The sooner this Angeal guy collected his friend, the sooner Harry could get to bed. The PHS took a few moments to connect, and a few moments more for the man in question to answer, which was to be expect so early in the morning. Oh, the woes of having a nocturnal lifestyle when the rest of the population lived by day!  
  
“Why the fuck are you calling me at three in the morning? You KNOW I just fell asleep, Sephiroth! This had better be important.” Also to be expected, Harry thought, as he listened to the angry greeting. Unfortunately, he was used to this sort of thing.  
  
“Terribly sorry to wake you, but the General is far too drunk to make it back safely. He gave me your number, so I figure you know where he lives and are willing to come collect him?” Harry inquired politely.  
  
“Huh? Oh, yeah. Sorry about yelling at you, then. What bar?” The man asked, calmer now that he knew he was talking to a stranger and not his friend, though Harry could still hear the irritation in his voice.  
  
“Not a problem. Doom, in the slums bellow sector 4, by the main column.” Harry said, before giving more precise direction. Doom was purposely made difficult to find, to control who (and what) came and went. Harry had no intention of letting his bar get ransacked by the homeless, terrorists or the many monsters that roamed the streets of Midgars slums if he could avoid it, and he most certainly could.  
  
It took a little over twenty minutes for Angeal to make his way to Harry’s bar, during which Harry decided to cut Sephiroth off. Thankfully, the man didn’t make much of a fuss, only half-heartedly muttering about ‘injustice’ and ‘cute mop of hair’. Harry assumed both where directed at him, and chose to consider the later a compliment, and not simply an alcohol induced hallucination. The General was, after all, outrageously good looking. It was nice to know that someone appreciated Harry’s own good looks, even if that someone was far too drunk to remember the compliment come morning.  
  
He was distracted from his musing about the perks and downsides of his job by a loud nock. He wasn’t about to let any random bloke into his bar at this time of night, and so looked though his magic peep hole (magic since it was really just him turning part of the door see through, on his side only) before opening the door. While not quite as well known as Sephiroth, Angeal was hardly an obscure figure. Nearly as tall as Sephiroth with broad shoulders and bulging muscles, he was very far from unattractive.  
  
Harry tried his best not to ogle the exposed flesh, but judging by the man’s smirk failed spectacularly. He couldn’t really find it within him to care.  
  
Angeal whistled when he laid eyes on Sephiroth, half lying down on the counter and mumbling to himself.  
  
“What did you give him, to get him that drunk?” Angeal asked, not taking his eyes off the General, as if looking away would somehow cause him to sober up instantaneously. Harry was very pleased to hear the awe in his voice. It was always nice to have one’s talents acknowledged and properly appreciated.  
  
“A blend of my own making. I call it Firewhiskey. You’ll have to stop by sometime to have a few shots of your own.” Harry answered, a little smug. He was extremely proud to have managed to recreate his original worlds favored drink, and wasn’t at all ashamed of stealing the name. It wasn’t quite the same, obviously, but it was strong, and it reminded him of home.  
  
“I might just take you up on that offer.” Angeal replied, hoisting his comrade over one shoulder and walking out the door with him. Harry had a feeling he’d be seeing them both again.  
  
～✧～  
  
As Harry had predicted, both Sephiroth and Angeal soon became regulars. Often times they came in together, but occasionally alone. Sometimes drinking had to be done alone, something Harry was well versed in. Whenever solitary drinking was in order, which ever friend was drunk would phone the other to be collected, usual resulting in a bit of friendly chatter for Harry, unless they had something important to do the next day and needed their beauty sleep.  
  
It was in those quite moments between their last drink and a PHS call that Harry got to know them as more than pretty faces and military jargon in whatever text he had chosen to read to keep himself entertain when there was nothing better to do.  
  
Harry learnt that Sephiroth was little more than a lab rat, subjected to unbearable cruelties at the whims of a scientist called Hojo.  
  
He learnt that Angeal was a mentor-turned-father-figure to a dark haired boy (“man”, Angeal always corrected himself, “he’s a man now”) named Zack.  
  
Harry learnt that Sephiroth rarely slept for longer than four hours at a time, and only ever managed seven if he felt safe. (Harry learnt the first part by listening to his grousing whenever Angeal woke him up and the last part thanks to Angeals comments when Sephiroth fall asleep at his customary barstool one evening, and stayed there well past morning, while Harry and Angeal talked.)  
  
He learnt that Angeal was as much of a lab rat as Sephiroth, but with a different purpose.  
  
He learnt that as much as they hate their masters, they would still do their very best to protect their city and all its inhabitants, even if it meant making themselves vulnerable to said cruel masters.  
  
He learnt that there used to be a third red haired man in their group of misfits called Genesis.  
  
He learnt after a particularly bad night that Genesis killed himself rather than live any longer as a lab rat.  
  
He learnt that as much as Angeal and Sephiroth mournd for their lost companion, they also hated him a little for leaving them behind.  
  
He learnt that Angeal got horny when he’d had too much, and that Sephiroth enjoyed mocking him for it.  
  
He learnt that Sephiroth had the cutes blush ever when teased just so.  
  
He learnt that Angeal and Sephiroth where adorable when they got properly drunk, especially together.  
  
He learnt that if Sephiroth and Angeal felt comfortable it was hard to get them to shut up.  
  
He learnt that comfortable for both Angeal and Sephiroth meant just the three of them, alone in his bar with a couple bottles of his finest Firewhiskey.  
  
Harry would be lying if he said the fond feeling bubbling in his chest at the sight of his two adorable idiots was only a response to the alcohol. And that was when Harry knew he was falling in love with two absurdly good looking men (or at least something close to it).  
  
At least it wasn’t a Wednesday.  
  
～✧～  
  
While not as bad as Wednesdays, Tuesdays had never been Harry’s favorite days. They had the potential to be annoying, and needed to be carefully maneuvered. This Tuesday, with mayhem and shenanigans galore was obviously true to the norm.  
  
Harry should have known something was up when Sephiroth and Angeal refused the bottle of Firewhiskey he offered, and instead nursed a pint of weak ale each. It didn’t help Harry’s suspicions any that they were sat at a table in the back of the bar, as far away from the counter – and him – as possible.  
  
Harry was too busy distributing alcohol to the masses when Sephiroth and Angeal began arguing in the corner to find out what it was about. Thankfully, the two somewhat sober men where keeping the volume down. They knew from past experience that harry wouldn’t hesitate to yell at them if they scared away the other patrons with excessive glaring or threats.  
  
Over the course of the next hour, as the bar progressively emptied, Harry managed to catch the words ‘worth it’, ‘try’, and ‘share’ at various points during their debate. Unfortunately, they kept changing the subject when they noticed him snooping. It was damn annoying, and made it frustratingly difficult to figure out what they were talking about.  
  
By one AM, the bar was mostly empty and Harry was a tad miffed by Sephiroth and Angeals secret powwow. It didn’t help that he’d had to break up a fight between a couple drunkards, who insisted on damaging his property.  
  
By one thirty AM, Harry was tired and annoyed enough that he kicked out his remaining patrons, save for Angeal and Sephiroth who were really more like friends by that point. The drunk masses would just need to go someplace else for the remainder of the night if the wanted more booze.  
  
He was busy tidying up when Sephiroth snuck up on him and ambushed him by the counter.  
  
Before Harry could so much as protest, he was being forcibly held against the wall, with his arms pinned up above his head by large hands and with a muscular thigh between his legs.  
  
“Sephiroth, what…?” Harry didn’t have time to finish voicing his question before a hot mouth was pressed against his own, successfully silencing him.  
  
“Stop teasing.” Sephiroths’ voice was barely more than a growl, husky and low, against the shell of Harry’s ear. He moved back an inch to look into Harry’s eyes, searching no doubt for a protest that simply wouldn’t be coming, their breaths mingling.  
  
Harry didn’t even try to fight against the pull of arousal he could feel low in his belly, and instead reached up to press his lips to Sephiroths’ in a searing kiss. He had been teasing the man a bit of late, giving him nice views of his arse as he cleaned. Harry certainly wasn’t about to deny it, especial not when it seemed to have finally gotten the desired result.  
  
Sephiroth lowered one hand to caress Harry’s side while using the other to keep Harry’s arms pined to the wall above his head. They broke away long enough to get a lungful of air, but didn’t move any further apart.  
  
“Is this a private event, or am I allowed to join you?” Angeal kept his voice light, but Harry knew him well enough by then to hear the hurt beneath the humor. He gently tugged one of his arms free of Sephiroths hold and beckoned Angeal closer with a lazy wave of his hand, waiting until the man was within reach to grab a fistful of his shirt and pull him down, bringing Angeal down to Harry’s level. Harry’s long since gotten over his irritation at being shorter than most of his friends, choosing instead to appreciate the perks.  
  
“Of course,” Harry whispered against Angeals lips, “the more the merrier, right?” he finished, with a teasing grin, before brutally mashing their lips together.  
  
Sephiroth chuckled lowly, making room for his friend by shifting a little to the side, and finally releasing Harry’s arm to hold his hips instead. Sephiroth pressed his lips against the exposed flesh of Harry’s neck, biting and licking fervently.  
  
Harry twisted his head to the side, breaking the kiss with Angeal and jostling Sephiroth from his position at Harry’s neck, sides heaving as he gulped down air greedily. As fun as everything was getting, he still needed a bit of that pesky thing called ‘oxygen’.  
  
As distracted as he was, he still noticed the conspiring glance Sephiroth and Angeal exchanged. Well, that was one mystery solved, at least.  
  
“I’m going to go off on a limb here and say you planned this out.” Harry drawled, with a raised eyebrow. They didn’t even have the decency to look sheepish, only smirking broadly in response, with a seductive “Oh yes,” from Sephiroth.  
  
Harry huffed, not bothering with a verbal comment. Instead, he grabbed a fistful of Sephiroths hair, and pulled him down for another kiss. He had only complained for the principal of the thing, which they clearly knew. After all, he was most certainly enjoying himself.  
  
“So, are you planning on showing us to the bedroom?” Angeal whispered in Harry’s hear, low and teasing.  
  
Harry pulled away from Sephiroths mouth with a chuckle that turned into a startled moan when Angeal decided to start nibbling on his ear. Who knew his ear could be so sensitive?  
  
“Stop distracting me, and I’d be happy to,” Harry gasped, putting his hands on Angeal and Sephiroths chests, giving them a little push.  
  
Judging by the look in Sephiroth and Angeals’ eyes, Harry should consider himself lucky they weren’t already at it on the floor. While Harry doubted tonight would be about careful explorations of each other’s bodies or for lengthy lovemaking, it would still be nice to have an actual bed involved.  
  
Harry cleared his throat and gently extricated himself from between the two taller men, making his way towards the back door, and the stairs leading up to the second floor and to his bedroom.  
  
He smiled as he felt the two men shadow him, leaving him barely enough room to walk properly. His smile broadened as he felt a possessive hand on his hip and another on the back of his neck.  
  
Tonight was going to be fun.  
  
～✧～  
  
And so that’s how Harry Potter found his way into the Slums of Midgar, and wandered into the lives of a long haired general and a one winged angel, and stayed there.  
  
～The End～

  



End file.
